


Say Not Goodnight

by midnight_bird



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_bird/pseuds/midnight_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They lifted the body together and laid it in the ground, on an old wool blanket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Not Goodnight

They found a place at the roots of an oak tree in Humiston Woods, just outside Pontiac. It was quiet, except for a dove somewhere off in the distance, and the air hung heavy with a cloying scent. There was a sea of flowers growing there, that spring. If you squinted, Sam thought, the little white petals looked like wings. Shut up, Dean told him, and kept on digging, burying the pale blossoms in thick, black dirt.

The body was dressed in its ubiquitous trench coat. The garment was ragged, frayed; covered in stains of blood and mire. The first tie that went with it had been lost, somewhere along the way, so Sam had bought a new one - blue, to match its wearer’s eyes, and to keep up with tradition.

They lifted the body together and laid it in the ground, on an old Indian blanket. Sam started to cross the hands over its chest, but Dean stopped him. No, he said. It’s a mockery. So Sam moved the arms down, palms up and open, like their owner’s heart had been.

Dean climbed out of the gaping wound they’d dug in the earth. He reached over and pulled up a bunch of the white flowers, roots and all. Say something, he choked out.

Sam was going to drown in the warm, saccharine petal scent and forest shade and loss. He couldn’t get his brain to find words; couldn’t get his tongue to form them. Then he looked down and the flash of red fabric under the body brought back a day he thought he’d forgotten, a day ages ago, when they last ate and drank and laughed together.

They’d pulled off the highway at a middle-of-nowhere cemetery. It had a picnic table, stones all cracked and covered in bird shit. He’d spread the old wool blanket over it - Dean had laughed at him for that - and the one who lay so still now had looked at them in amused confusion. The setting sun had cast long, gravestone shadows across the grass, making the burial ground look softer, somehow. There was one stone close at hand, Sam recalled, and the words carved there came flowing back…

 _Say not goodnight_ , he whispered, _but in some brighter world, bid me good morning._

Dean laid the flowers over the once-angel’s heart. Wait for us, Castiel, he said, fierce and low. We’ll be there to say it.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. Civil feedback is appreciated. // Not mine. Please don’t sue.


End file.
